


Lost Shadows

by silvertrails



Series: Quick to Anger [23]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 09:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvertrails/pseuds/silvertrails
Summary: Caranthir, Celegorm and Curufin come to the Halls of Mandos.





	Lost Shadows

**Lost Shadows  
** By CC  
December, 2015 

This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended. 

I mostly go for Home 12 over Silmarillion canon. I also go for The Lost Tales canon, and that means the Valar and Maiar have children.

* * *

**Mandos’ Halls, FA, 507**

Vairë stood in her work-chamber, looking at the tapestries she had just made and wondering if the Noldor would ever find peace. A new kinslaying had begun after the sons of Fëanáro had become aware that Dior was openly wearing the Silmaril the Dwarves had set in the Nauglafring. The Oath had again driven Maitimo and his brothers to try to seize the Silmaril. It had resulted in a new kinslaying. They had demanded Dior returned the jewel, and Elwë’s grandson had refused, considering it a family heirloom. Such foolish pride, to risk his people’s lives for a jewel that had already brought down so many Elves… 

Each death had been a blow to the Valar. Fëanáro and Arakáno had died early, and after a few victories, the Noldor had believed they would be able to take Melkor down. They had been so blind! Many of them had returned to Valinor as wounded spirits, filling the Halls of Waiting with grief and despair. Only a few of them had left the Halls and returned to life, but most of the Noldor were still trying to understand the consequences of their actions. 

Nolofinwë had died confronting Melkor in a brave and foolish battle; Findaráto had died protecting Beren to fulfill his solemn vow; Findekano had been killed in a battle that had brought so many tears to Arda, and Huor, one of the bravest of the secondborn had died there with him. Artaher and Finduilas, slain when Glaurung and Melkor’s forces had come over Nargothrond had died next. There were so many more among the first and the secondborn, like Húrin and his family… Was there no end to this sorrow? Vairë still remembered when Melian came back to Valinor after the Dwarves killed Elwë; the Maia now dwelt in sorrow, her child lost to the fate of the secondborn, her husband in the Halls. 

Why had this all come to be? Why those with the greatest gifts lost their path? It had been the same with Melkor, who had been given superior power and understanding among the Ainur. It had happened with Fëanaro, who had allowed his pride to grow until it had taken everything from him. Not even in death had Fëanáro realized the harm done to his children. Even now, he was reluctant to allow Nolofinwë’s spirit to come close… 

And now his children had started a second kinslaying, and soon new tapestries of sorrow would come from Vairë’s hands. The sons of Fëanáro had advanced on Doriath, no longer protected by Melian’s Girdle, and finally managed to overcome its defenses. They were probably reaching the castle now. Vairë shivered, hugging herself briefly before she took a seat and reached for the threads of silver and gold, of green and red, and started to weave the scenes of the battle… 

Tyelkormo was the first to rush into the throne chamber, closely followed by Curufinwë. The king’s guards tried to stop them, but that was when Carnistir entered the chamber and helped Curufinwë clear a path that allowed Tyelkormo to reach Dior. As she wove, Vairë wondered where the other brothers were. Dior was not wearing the Nauglafring, which meant that Maitimo and the others were probably looking for it. 

The king’s archers had come to the chamber, and Curufinwë and Carnistir were trying to slay as many guards as possible and stop the arrows from hitting Tyelkormo. Vairë winced when a rain of arrows hit Curufinwë, leaving only Carnistir to protect his fallen brother. Tyelkormo had just slashed Dior’s throat, but he was also mortally wounded and the last of the arrows finished him. The twins reached the chamber in that very moment, their swords and clothes bloodied, their expressions fierce, but just as they started to breach their way toward Carnistir, an arrow hit his back, piercing his heart and killing him. 

Tears fell down Vairë’s cheeks as she saw his eyes slowly growing vacant. Curufinwë was also dead, and when Maitimo and Makalaurë entered the chamber, the remaining guards stood no chance against them and the twins. Tyelkormo’s men were already in the inner chambers, looking for Dior’s sons; Nimloth had died while protecting the secret of Elwing’s escape. Vairë closed her eyes, refusing to continue. She would deal with the tapestries telling about the fates of Dior’s children later. Namo must already know what would become of them. This time The One had spoken to the Doomsman first. 

It had been such a cruel slaughter! So many had died, and again the Silmaril had escaped the sons of Fëanaro’s hands, as it was meant to be. Would they ever realize that it would be better to come back and be judged for their crimes? Only then would they find peace. Vairë sighed, knowing that Námo was already calling the dead to the Halls. 

Vairë stood and rushed to the Halls’ entrance, pain flooding through her spirit as the souls of the dead elves came through. Tyelkormo and Dior passed by her like shadows, the first still angry at his failure, the second wondering why Eru had allowed the slaughter. Both so proud, and yet Tyelkormo’s sins were worse than Dior’s. Námo had allowed them to pass by without stopping them; judgment would come later, and comfort only once they were ready to accept it. Curufinwë came next, and he seemed to see nothing but his brother’s shadow. Vairë stilled. Where was Carnistir? 

The flow of spirits was thinning when at last Carnistir’s spirit crossed the entrance. Vairë gasped softly when she his spirit, for the burden of so many deaths clung to him like a shroud. Anger, desperation, fear, even madness, all those feelings were contained in the fragile vessel. Námo had not moved, but Vairë could feel his pain. 

Carnistir’s spirit suddenly stopped, and for a moment, he seemed about to flee out of the Halls. Not that it was possible, but the young one had come close to the gates while still alive, so the memory was probably in his mind. How much did Carnistir remember of their friendship? Was it all buried under this darkness? 

“Come inside, Morifinwë,” Namo said quietly. There was no one else around anymore and yet Carnistir’s spirit didn’t seem about to glide further in. 

Sudden anger washed over Vairë in waves, as darkness closed in around the troubled spirit, making him almost impossible to recognize. Vairë didn’t recoil, but extended a hand in an unconscious and useless gesture. Carnistir could not be comforted with touches; he no longer had a body. 

::Come with us, Carnistir,:: she sent silently, soothingly. ::Come with us and find your peace.::

Carnistir’s spirit shimmered, anger mingled with fear coming from him. He was obviously trying to control his anger, as was his way around her, but he didn’t seem able to. 

“There is no peace!” Carnistir exclaimed. “Not anymore. We failed…”

“You were bound to fail, Morifinwë,” Námo said softly, kindly. “That was the nature of the doom I pronounced before you left. You would come back empty-handed and seek forgiveness for your sins.”

“I will never beg for pardon! It is the Valar who let Morgoth loose, and we have suffered the consequences! Will Manwë ask forgiveness too?”

“Morifinwë, you could have stopped, you could have fought the urgency to kill…”

“Maybe I had nothing to fight for!”

Námo stiffened, and for a moment Carnistir’s spirit froze. Vairë felt the despair in the young one’s spirit.

“Wait!” she called, but Carnistir’s spirit rushed past them into the Halls, hopefully heading to his brothers. It would help them all not to be alone until Námo called them to his chamber. Vairë was still shaking when Námo approached her. He placed an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. 

“He is lost,” Námo said quietly. He was more sad than angry. 

“Not yet,” Vairë whispered. “We will recover him. He is angry and confused, but he will come around.”

Namo sighed. “I hoped he would at least regret what he has done, but there was nothing of that in his spirit. You saw him, you felt his anger.”

“He died by violence,” she said.

“After killing others,” Námo pointed out. “I wish I had been able to stop his fall, and I will help him find peace, but Morifinwë must repent of his sins. He and his brothers must leave the anger behind, or they will never be able to leave these Halls.”

Vairë nodded. “They will. I know that there is still good inside them. At least they are now free from the Oath. They need time, not only to repent, but also to find themselves and remember who they were.”


End file.
